


Your Skin is a Love Song (Told in the Melody of Your Scars)

by morganoconner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers each and every bullet wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Skin is a Love Song (Told in the Melody of Your Scars)

There are no physical scars, not even from the shots that were laced with wolfsbane. Sixteen of those most deadly bullets over the span of forty-five years, and there's not a single mark on Derek's body to show for it.

But Stiles doesn't need the scars to remember where each and every one pierced skin, shattered bone, shredded tissue and muscle and organ. He remembers all of them with painful clarity. He remembers the first time, when salvation was only a desperate hope and barely came in time. He remembers the last, can still feel the blood slicking his hands as he fought to pick out every shard of metal from a wound too close to Derek's heart. He remembers all the ones in between. It's not something he'd ever allow himself to forget.

But it's not like it's something either of them think about very often. With the lives they've led, getting shot is something that comes along with the territory, or it used to; even Stiles has taken a bullet or three in his time, and he doesn't have those shiny werewolf healing powers to help him out of a scrape. Mostly, they've learned to roll with the punches. They have Isaac, a fully-trained medical professional, for when things get bad enough, and even now, Allison has the eye and the aim to keep things from getting that bad nine times out of ten. Besides that, in the last few years since the treaties were signed, things have started quieting down.

Still, there's something about this night every year that makes them both remember. Without fail, when the sun sets on the summer solstice, Derek becomes withdrawn, quiet and brooding in that way that brings Stiles right back to his teenaged years, when pulling a smile out of the alpha was like trying to pull a tooth from a rabid tiger except with more snarling.

It's understandable. They both lost friends that day, and they both almost lost each other, too. The hunters were too fast and too many, and their bullets worked too quickly, and whatever good came of that last battle when the tide finally turned, there's a fair amount of pain that can never be covered over.

Stiles knows all about loss; has known about it from when he was ten years old and watching his mother whither away in a hospital bed. The thing he's learned the most about it, though, is that it makes you appreciate the time you have so much more. It makes you treasure every moment, every murmur, every heartbeat.

He and Derek have suffered through more than one loss, and weathered a few near-misses of their own. And it makes Stiles impossibly grateful for these nights, even when Derek is at his most surly, because they're both here. He's here, kissing his way over his lover's skin, marking every invisible scar with a lingering press of lips. Sixteen bullet wounds, each one an attack that could have stolen this moment (and so many others) from them forever. He worships the warm, smooth skin around each one, and Derek lets him, because none of them managed to do so. Because each one is a victory, and a promise.

Derek's hair is starting to go silver, and Stiles has lines around his eyes and mouth that will turn to wrinkles soon enough. Derek sometimes walks hunched over like he's carrying the weight of the world, and Stiles has a knee that can barely take his weight anymore most mornings. The red in Derek's eyes is slowly fading to something lighter as Kyla Argent-McCall prepares to take his place as alpha, and Stiles beloved Jeep was an antique a decade ago.

They're a little tired, a little careworn (not old, never old), but they're still here – mostly happy, always together – and no bullet has ever been able to change that. As long as Stiles has something to say about it (and Stiles always has something to say), no bullet ever will.


End file.
